There's nothing like drinking when you're already at a disadvantage. We recently hit Lime XS (730 East Sixth Avenue), the new, smaller iteration of Lime in Larimer Square, and after her first margarita, the saintly wife of the Redneck Liaison to the Institute of Drinking Studies remembered that she'd donated blood just hours before. The Redneck was intrigued by the possibilities presented by a woman drinking while "she was a pint down," as he put it. I, on the other hand, knew that she was going to have a hell of a time, based on my experience of a few years ago when I imbibed a few days after giving myself a concussion. There was this major party I had to attend, and within a few beers, I was completely obliterated and pleasantly anti-social. I soon became the poster child for the dangers of drinking under the influence of a "sucking head wound," as my head injury came to be known.
Not that Lime's staff knew or cared whether we were medically fit for the evening. Our waitress, Brittney, told us early on that this establishment likes to get people drunk. No doubt she was just playing to the crowd, but we weren't kidding when we assured her that there was no group more likely to rise to the challenge. We wasted no time in ordering a pitcher of margaritas, which were supplemented by a constant stream of samples from our hosts. Our favorite was the Lime Salute: two limes halved and doused with a healthy dose of tequila. Instead of having to lick salt, down a shot and then stuff a lime in your mouth to overpower your tastebuds, with the Salute, you had a one-step shot. It was the pinnacle of American ingenuity -- and laziness.
Brittney kept on with the Salutes and the repeated challenge to clean the tequila off the plate. The Redneck was feeling threatened, I think, and growled, "She's pushing me!" It's not good to push people when they're drinking tequila; this is a dangerous brew that leads to drunk-dialing, uncontrolled deficit-spending, unplanned pregnancy and projectile vomiting. The last often yanks the tequila monkey off your back for some time. I went tequila-free for several years after a night of multiple body shots that ended with me throwing up my toenails. For a long time after, I couldn't even smell the stuff without wanting to die. But I recently managed to right that ship and have judiciously reintroduced tequila into my armamentarium.
730 East Sixth Avenue
Lime XS wisely supplements its tequila-pushing with a big serving of chips and great salsa. Although the Institute officially prefers corn tortillas over flour-based chips, we weren't going to let that stop us from going through several bowls. And in a similar vein, while the Redneck isn't the world's biggest marg fan, he was mature enough to wrestle them down.
I'd noticed this newer, smaller Lime as I drove along Sixth and saw the big screen over the bar, but there's plenty to like without the TV: good food, an attentive staff, pretty people and drinks strong enough to give you a fighting chance at going home with one of those pretty people. This is best accomplished with a few dozen Lime Salutes, especially if your target has just done her civic duty and donated blood. Salud!
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